Operation SLEEP
by SchmetterlingMaus
Summary: Count Spankulot wants to extract revenge on the young, teenage Wallabee Beatles, while he's sleeping, but it proves difficult, because others also want Wally's time while he's asleep. (a little adult in portions)
1. Chapter 1

Cartoon Network owns all rights to the Codename: Kids Next Door.

Streetlamps dotted the sleeping, urban streets for blocks. The tree house stood far higher than the lights, leaving unaltered darkness, making the stars clear above and giving the streetlamps a star-like quality below. The only thing that moved within the tree was the leaves when the wind blew through in summer gusts. Unfortunately, for the Count, he couldn't feel the heat. There was a few seconds of pleasure when the life of another rushed through his body, making his heart beat for a handful of seconds, a harsh reminder of the spark he'd loss in death.

There was a smell that lingered, domed within the leaves, which the wind couldn't steal. It was the warm sugary sweet smell of fresh cotton candy, cookies, syrup and popped corn. Within that, he could smell the distinct scents of the individual operatives.

Somewhere far in the night, a siren blared and dogs barked, but the tree house was shadowy and silent. He crawled from limb to limb. The branches didn't bend under his weight, gravity didn't touch him. He came to the open windowsill with the faded galaxy curtains framing the window within the room.

His fingers curled over the smooth wood, and he peered inside the vast private quarters of the operative he'd always known as Numbuh Four. He only recently started mentally calling the teenager by his given name, Wally. He rose, leaning into the room. The curtains brushed against his crisp, white shirt.

There was no warning, no knock. The door flew open and the light switched on, forcing him to withdraw below the windowsill.

oOo

"Come-on Numbuh Three, you can't practice kissing on the back of your hand, it's not going to teach you anything. You need a practice dummy that kisses back," Abby said. She picked her way across the disaster of a room, dodging the larger piles of Wally's stuff, which included hockey sticks, football equipment and toppled towers of comic books. Nothing had changed since elementary.

Kuki stood in the doorway in her white Rainbow Monkey tee-shirt and little blue shorts that made her legs long and thin. Wispy black strands of hair fell into her face from her high ponytail. Her round, dark eyes glanced around the room uncertain. "But Wally? It's awkward. He's so… so… you know, Wally!"

Abby laughed, already standing by the bed in red shorts, equally short to what Kuki wore, and a red tank top. Her hat sat low on her head and her hair was loose from its signature braid. To make a point, she picked Wally's limp wrist up and let it drop. "He's practically dead to the world. He won't wake up."

The little display did nothing for Kuki's nerves as she slid into the room, hopping over the obstacle course of boy junk; sports magazines and dirty laundry. Superhero sheets were stretched over the single bed, and the matching comforter had been kicked down over the side. Wally wore long, aqua blue sleep pants and a long sleeve, white shirt with Aqua Man in comic book lettering stretched over his solid chest.

His sun yellow hair had gotten shaggy over the summer. He'd cut it again right before the football season so it wouldn't get in his face when he wore his helmet. At the moment, he looked like a maltase poodle. Maltase poodles were friendly. They were cute, and warm and fun to hug. She'd even rub her nose against its wet nose and let it kiss her. She could… maybe… kiss Wally because Wally was like a maltase without a wet nose.

"He's sort of cute and fluffy when he's not talking," Kuki observed out loud. He'd be cute at a tea party with a little pink bonnet and matching summer dress, but Wally's nose wasn't wet and his body wasn't nearly hairy enough, nor was his vocabulary limited to cute little high pitched barks. She'd never risk anyone knowing about her secret Rainbow Monkey tea party that she still threw for herself and her collection late at night when everyone was asleep.

Abby was the first to lean over the bed and grab Wally's shoulder and arm. "A little help, maybe?"

Kuki immediately leaned in and almost bumped heads with Abby.

"How many flavors of bubble gum lip balm did you put on?" Abby chastised. "You smell like a candy shop."

Kuki bit her lip. "I'm sorry. This is the first time I've actually, you know, used a real person to practice on. I didn't want chapped lips."

"I don't think the football dummy is going to notice," she said.

Kuki leaned in again, this time sliding both hands around Wally's shoulder and arm, heaving him into a sitting position. His heat radiated through the overly washed, thin pajama fabric. Why had he chosen something so hot to sleep in? The tree house wasn't exactly cool at night.

Precariously balanced with his feet on the ground and his spine gently curved in sleep, Wally sat on the edge of his bed. His eyes were slit open, the gray of his irises stared at nothing. He was completely zonked out.

"Now this might be strange to you, but lookie here," Abby grabbed Wally's jaw, demonstrating how easy it was to tilt his face upward. The young football star was completely mobile, easy to maneuver. She placed a chaste kiss on his mouth, leaving a light gloss on his pale, pink lips. "Now you try."

Kuki gulped. Wally wasn't moving, but she expected him to open his eyes, push her away and declare the need to burn his body of koodies. She wasn't a hundred percent sure Wally ever graduated from his level of koodie concern. Still, she cupped his jaw, surprised at how firm it felt in her small palm. She tilted his head back and placed an equally chaste kiss on his lips.

Wally stirred and she jerked back, but she couldn't get far. His arms locked around her waist and she was falling back on top of him. He nuzzled her cheek, kissing blindly along her temple. She pressed her hands against his shoulders, and pushed upward. With Abby's help, she was loose and Wally had gone limp, askew against the mattress, sighing in his sleep and mumbling unintelligently.

Abby looked as stunned as Kuki felt. "That might be enough of a lesson, ya think? No tell'in what will wake the jock."

Kuki giggled nervously, finding the heat in her cheeks hard to mask. "Yeah, you're probably right. How did you know he'd sleep so soundly?"

Now it was Abby's turn to look embarrassed. A red flush brightened her face. "Uh, well… There was this incident with the ghosts, and the gerbils and the thermostat…"

"Okay, I got it," Kuki said, leading the way through the destruction zone of a room. She stopped short, nearly running back into Abby with one hand on the door and the other on the switch. Her dark eyes had gone demure, almost embarrassed. "Wally's fun to kiss."

"Mmm, boy, don't I know," Abby said, switching off the light and closing the door.

oOo

The Count cursed under his breath. He didn't have all night and though the young women had been quick, sitting on a limb wasn't how he wanted to spend his night. He was missing the villain annual convention for a chance to seek his revenge on the operative known as Wallabee Beatles, freshman in high school, football star.

The shrill sirens stopped. The dogs quit barking. The neighborhood was as quiet as the tree house. He stood from where he hid. The darkness within, safely beckoned.

Nothing furry scampered over the floorboards. There was no sign of hidden wayward pets. Nothing stirred except the blinking red light on the television recording nonsense, he supposed.

He slid into the room and stood by the window. The air was stifling; condense with sweat, greasy and sweet foods and dirty clothes. Every scent mingled unpleasantly forming one toxic stench that made the inside of his nose burn and his eyes water. There was one smell that wasn't completely unpleasant, and that was the smell of clean flesh. Like a thin wrapping over a sharply scented treat, he could smell blood. He could hear the soft, rhythmic beating of the young man's heart. It made his gums pulse with want.

The floor was littered with junk, bicycle parts, markers over cardboard layouts, and forgotten tidbits. He made it to the bed without incident and sighed in relief. The teen in question wasn't aware he'd had nightly visitors or that one stood over his bed now. The Count blocked the silver moonlight, casting a long shadow over the sleeping teen. Wallabee's brows furrowed and he shivered, registering, somewhere deep in his sleep laden mind, the change of temperature.

The Count placed his fingertips on Wallabee's forehead, brushing the stray strands of butter blond hair from his forehead. Heat lingered on the tips of his fingers where he touched him, but when he withdrew, the heat immediately left his skin, leaving it numb, a permanent frost bite numbness that never went away unless he drank warmth.

He reached out again, but footsteps stilled his hand. They were clunky, not the steps women took. These were the heavy steps of a person in deep thought. A low hum of a motor whistled with the steps and as they neared the door, the Count realized where the person was heading. He slid under the bed, grateful that it was off the floor and not completely stuffed with objects so he couldn't fit. Still, he found his elbow resting in a half-eaten something.

The door opened and the light flipped on. The Count squeezed his eyes shut until the pain of the light subsided and he slowly opened them again. A lithe figure stood in the doorway in rolled up blue jeans, a collared shirt and vest. He wore an aviator's cap and goggles, though the goggles were currently resting on his cap. The young man had a name… all the Count knew him by was Numbuh Two. Names hadn't been important until Wallabee Beatles; "_Wally"_ on the field and among friends.

oOo

Hoagie stood in the doorway with his science fair project hovering just ahead of him in smooth, black metallic. Two large, multi-prism glass bulbs connected at the front and long silver wings that fluttered, though it wasn't what kept it afloat. The hydro-engine he'd installed gave it most of its power and a little extra tinkering. The idea had come to him when he was in the fourth grade, but he never really knew what he was aiming to build with the sketches of the fly that ended up in his work room so long ago.

Now his contraption was complete, small enough to help kindergarteners and first graders. This was his first model and it needed to be tested by someone taller than the ankle biters. It was sturdy and durable and he needed to know it wouldn't go down if someone large jumped on it.

The controller was similar to a game controller, but the inside had the ability to do the same, so two people could control the ship, in case the controller inside the Fly got jammed. The machine glided ahead of him, beautiful in the way the wings caught the light. It would be prettier under natural light, but he was amazed with it on both ends. He cut a path straight through Wally's stuff, just walking right over it until he made it to the bed.

He yanked the pen from behind his ear and twisted his arm so he could scratch his notes on the small pad he wore like a bracelet, his own personal invention. "Subject is approximately five-nine in height…" he stared at Wally trying to gauge weight. He was lithe from running, solid and muscular for his frame, but he wasn't built like a professional. "Slim to midrange in weight, healthy."

Real healthy. Ever since Wally started playing sports, his diet had changed, but then again, so had Hoagie's, less chilly dogs and more lean meats. His Flyer stayed level with the bed. He sat his controller on the edge of the mattress, stretched his arms a bit and bent down, making sure to bend his legs. He put his hands up under Wally's back and under his legs. The heat of his body immediately sank through his clothes. He was successful for an instant. The younger and shorter operative's dead weight sent them both toppling onto the bed, with Hoagie on top. Wally didn't stir.

Hoagie sat up and found that he was straddling his quarry. The heat that came from Wally's body wasn't completely uncomfortable, despite the heat of the room that even the open window couldn't move. And Wally smelled clean, like mint body wash. He hadn't pictured the jock using body cleansing supplies with such a clean, sharp scent.

Hoagie's heart flip flopped and heat rushed to his face. What was he sitting here thinking? His love was in grease and screwdrivers. He loved nails and blueprints.

This time when he attempted to lift Wally, he was ready for the dead weight. He got him airborne, though thankfully the Fly was right next to the bed. He dropped him into the passenger seat with his legs haphazardly hanging nearly to the floor. Wally slumped over the controls, non-the-wiser.

In the mess, the controller was no longer on the bed, but beside it on the floor. He swooped down to nab it and caught something pale jolt back under the shadows of the bed. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Great! The last thing they needed was an infestation of ghost gerbils.

He bent down to look, but there was nothing beyond forgotten food containers. It was definitely ghost gerbils. They were going to have to bring out the big guns in the morning and take care of business.

Hoagie stood upright and dusted himself off. Something inside the controller rattled. That was new. Maybe the fall loosened a screw inside the box. He'd have to look at that back in his work shop, a.k.a. bedroom.

He moved the joystick on the controller upward, and the Fly didn't move. He moved it sideways with the same lack luster results. He moved the joystick back, still nothing. He shook the controller and tried again. Same results. No luck. Inventor's frustration made his shoulders knot and it wasn't from lifting something heavier than the contraptions he was use to moving about.

He jabbed the red button under the controller and the Fly ran straight into the wall. The prism eyes exploded on impact. The wires were exposed like grotesquely sparking veins. There was soot on the wall, but no damage.

The Fly wilted down near the floor. He grabbed Wally and got him on the bed, then pulled his pen out from behind his ear and jotted a note on the pad. One last glance at the jock and heat rushed to his face. Okay, now he really needed to get back to the lab before he forgot the purpose of his task.

The Fly sputtered behind him as he flipped off the light. He waited for the Fly to move out into the hallway before he closed the door behind him.

oOo

The Count slid out from under the bed, finding relief in escaping the smell of stale food, but finding no relief in the smell of Wallabee's flesh and the blood just under the surface. The bed smelled like him, of his life; of his shampoos, body wash and skin. He stayed where he kneeled, looking up the long legs and torso of the sleeping jock. Wallabee had suffered a night of indignation, yet he knew nothing about it.

He cautiously touched Wallabee's ankle, there was no movement. He could bite the youth's toes off, but he wouldn't get too many before the youth woke up. No, he wanted Wally to suffer more than a few lost digits. He wanted to kill the young man's pride, he wanted to take his willpower and bend it until he only knew what it was to serve, to be a blood swan and crave the touch of fangs in his skin.

He gracefully stood and leaned in. His knee was braced on the bed when he heard footsteps coming down the hall. They weren't heavy like the inventor, or scurrying like the females. They were light, almost not registering against the floor boards. This was someone who was used to being inconspicuous. It was the way the weight was balanced in the step that said it was someone use to control, use to having everything in his grasp…

The person beyond the door was hesitant. He waited, hoping they'd go away as the person paced the hall. A second later they came back, waiting just beyond the door.

The Count flinted into the shadows as the door opened. Unlike the others, the light didn't immediately switch on. Standing in the doorway was an image of a young man, lithe like James Bond, only younger. His shades were down over his eyes, but the Count had a feeling it didn't hinder Numbuh One's perception of the dark room.

As a shadow he scurried along the ceiling to a spot behind a thick limb of the tree that jutted from the floor to the ceiling and curved his body into the space. The light flipped on, but the shadows in this space didn't move, giving him the power of darkness to retain this airy form.

oOo

Nigel stood in the doorway, listening. Only Wally had this section of the tree house, which left the floor quiet. The elevator didn't hum with activity and the wood structure didn't vibrate with activity. It was utterly silent. So why did it still feel like there was an audience? Minus a very, heavy sleeper, the room was empty.

He took the thin, somewhat clean path towards the bed, rubbing his sweaty palms continuously over his jeans with every step. It was lucky that Wally was asleep. He didn't want to a fellow operative aware of him right now. His throat was dry, his heart was hammering. It only grew worse when he got to the side of the bed.

He took a seat, then immediately stood. That didn't feel right either. He sat back down with one hand on the sheets. Wally was unaware of the way his mattress shifted with the weight.

This was one of the few moments he could watch Wally at peace. The teen was always busy, getting into something, usually something that was questionable. There were a few times when he had to bring Wally back under control. Without his tough guy attitude and spitfire temper, Wally looked vulnerable.

This gave him a chance to really study his operative. There was a soft slope to Wally's nose. It had never been broken, or smashed. It was perfect and small and turned up just slightly at the end. His brows were as blond as his hair, and his sun kissed skin looked as warm as he knew the operative usually was, though he always wore long sleeves and jeans unless he was out practicing on the field.

Wally's shirt twisted up during his slumber, showing hip bone and a thin trail of darker blond hair that lead down under the low hanging waistband of his cotton sleep pants. Nigel licked his suddenly dry lips, his mind delving in areas that were far more risky than he'd ever actually take things. He startled when he caught himself staring a little too long at the thick bulge. Now was the wrong time to make any huge announcements to Wally. He had to gauge if, maybe, Wally felt the same way in return towards him.

Where he wanted to go with Wally was a territory he'd never been, and he was pretty sure Wally was in the same boat… maybe even more in the boat than him. He wasn't sure Wally ever thought about dating, or the things that came with it. The operative was pretty single minded when it came to tasks.

There were things he was _allowed_ to say in the waking hours and things that he wasn't sure anyone should hear. "I know I thanked you for saving us when we got caught at the villain convention tonight, but I couldn't tell you how terrified I'd been for you when you jumped into the fray. You were outnumbered. You took some pretty heavy hits. You didn't once say anything towards us for the miscalculation on my end and the faulty gear on Hoagie's end. You're outstanding."

Wally didn't move. His breathing was steady, his eyes shifted under the lids in rim sleep. His long, slender fingers were loosely curved. Nigel took his hand, lacing his fingers through Wally's and for a moment, they were touching palm to palm. Wally's hand was hot, and surprisingly soft. His overly washed pajamas were starting to get thin, though he suspected they were still too warm to be wearing in the tree house with the heat of late summer coming through the tree house boards.

He leaned into the sleeping boy. His other hand hovered over Wally's exposed hipbone. His expanse of warm skin begged to be touched. He let his thumb explore the jutted hipbone, rolling over and over the flesh in small, tight circles. Wally moaned and tilted his hip into the touch.

Nigel flattened his hand across Wally's hip, wanting more. His fingers found purchase of that strong, well worked muscle, digging his fingers in and noticing the way Wally moved at his command. He leaned over his teammate and inhaled Wally's body wash and shampoo. Wally was still deep in slumber.

It was wrong. He should leave now, but he wanted to know what those lips tasted like. He wasn't one to linger indecisively. Leaning forward, he stole a kiss from the mouth that sat passively naïve to its nightly visitor. To his surprise, Wally kissed back. Was that bubble gum lip gloss? Maybe Wally wasn't all that straight after all.

When he pulled back, he expected Wally to be awake, but the only thing that was really awake, stirred at the crossroad of Numbah Four's thighs where the worn pajamas grew tight. He smirked, finding this promising. He stilled his hands on Wally's hips, wanting to kiss the line of his athletic curves.

"We should talk when you're awake," he whispered in his operative's ear.

He stood, though reluctant and took himself out of the room, flipping the light and closing the door.

oOo

Count waited, listening. The tree house was quiet now. There was no noise beyond the door. Everyone was now either asleep, or contained quietly within their prospective spots. When nothing happened, he pulled out from under the bed and climbed into the muddle of sheets and blankets that nearly nested the young man and stretched out alongside the warm, living body. Wallabee shivered in his sleep. The young man knew warmth, while the Count only knew the cold. Heat was a fleeting comfort that brought the tortured cold when it slowly left his body.

He leaned over the sleeping youth, breathing in the soft scent of baby shampoo and body wash, giving the rowdy, obnoxious young man a vulnerable reflection. He lowered his nose to the curve where shoulder met arm, taking in the soft human musk of a washed body that had no unnatural products placed on it yet.

The Count rolled his nose along Wallabee shoulder and up his neck to the tender curvature of his earlobe taking in the different scents of this one young being. "Wallabee?" There was no response.

"Wallabee…" he sang.

Wallabee gave a non-committal grunt. He was deep in sleep, which was the perfect time to touch the psyche. Wallabee's breathing was steady; his skin was taut and begging. The Count whispered in Wallabee's ear and the young man complied with the demand, tilting his head so that his neck lay bare. He was docile, almost pleasant. The Count pushed blond strands of hair away from Wallabee's sleeping face. His eyes flickered under his lids in rim sleep.

"What are you dreaming about, Wallabee? Fighting crime or the players on the football field?"

The young man didn't respond. His long, frosty fingers curled around Wallabee's wrist, feeling the pulse tap. It thudded with health, a young man who took on vigorous exercise. He could _almost_ taste the blood that would beat into his mouth in time to Wallabee's pounding heart. It made his gums itch and his teeth extend.

"You have caused a great deal of hardship today," he said. His voice wasn't low, no one's voice had been low tonight, and still the young operative didn't wake. Saying the young man was a heavy sleeper was an understatement. He wasn't sure a blow horn would get him to stir.

A passive victim wasn't a fun victim. He didn't like his victims inactive. He held Wallabee's wrist tighter, sure that the young man would wake due to the pinch. Nothing. How was he going to torture a victim that wouldn't ascend to the occasion?

He lifted Wallabee's wrist to his lips, but before he could bite down, the strong clouted scent of garlic cloves assaulted his nose. It was faint enough to go unnoticed until now. He released Wallabee's hand and rubbed his fingers over his suit pants. Wallabee was still comatose to his surroundings, his chest rising and falling in steady tempo to his breathing.

He slid up next to the young football player and sniffed at his neck. The garlic powder had been thoroughly washed from some of him, and possibly reapplied, but it hadn't been applied on his neck. He laid half his body onto the sleeping form, expecting the teen to struggle. With a hand on Wallabee's jaw, he tilted the young man's angular chin upward, leaving his neck exposed. His flesh was young and tan. Wallabee smelled of heat and the sun, of youth and summer, pool parties and grass stains.

The Count licked Wallabee's skin, wanting to savor what he hadn't tasted in centuries, but none of those things were there. The young man smelled of these experiences, but he didn't taste like them.

He pressed his cold lips against Wallabee's warm throat. The young man's pulse fluttered strong with determination, but ever so fragile like a baby bird fallen from its nest. He imagined candy tasting like this, miserably taunting in its flavor and richness. His teeth elongated past his lips, scrapping with sharp precision against the young man's throat. Blood drew to the surface, rich against sun-kissed skin.

"Wallabee, this is the last time you bulldoze my plans," he whispered. He gathered the young man into his arms, cradling his neck. He pushed his fangs deep into Wallabee's skin, trapping his pulse between his lips. Blood, hot from the living body, blazed over his cold tongue. It burned a molten path from his throat to his stomach. The heat ebbed through his limbs and into his fingers and toes.

Wallabee trembled in his arms and moaned. His hand grasped the Count's tuxedo coat, but he didn't try pushing away. Instead, Wallabee reflexively stretched his chin to expose more flesh. This was too easy. He didn't peg Wallabee as the docile type. Despite the tightening of his muscles, he was still asleep.

It took control to pull his teeth from Wallabee's neck. A dead football player was useless to him. His revenge would be extracted without the teenager suffering, pleading or humiliated. Numbuh Four's blurry gray eyes stared at him through heavy half-lids. He was awake, but he couldn't tell if the young man was really conscious. The vampire venom kept the victim passive; something he never thought would work on the uncultivated Numbuh Four.

"You, Wallabee Beatles, are now my thrall," he whispered against the cusp of Wally's warm ear. His lips brushed the thin, intricate folds of warm cartilage. "You will do as I say without question."

Wally's jaw opened and immediately closed. He winced when he swallowed, but with a weak arm, managed to rest his hand on the Count's crisp white shirt. The operative's jaw fixed with determination. "I will never be your slave."

Pleasure slid through every nerve in the Count's over stimulated body. "Are you resisting?" The animal within him, the beast that craved the last drop of life surged to the surface of his existence. "I was hoping you'd put up a fight, Wallabee Beatles."

"And I was hoping you'd take the bait," Wally growled.

He detached himself from the teen and pulled away from the bed to watch him. It took all of Wally's energy to sit upright. His face was pale. The puncture wounds on his neck were puckered and bleeding into the fabric of his blue shirt. The wounds pulsed with the steady rhythm of his healthy, athletic heart.

"Not feeling so well?" The Count mocked. He took a step back and the heat rushing through his system turned sour and cold. He caught the edge of the bed for support.

"Looks like it's contagious," Wally retorted with a tired, almost humorless smirk.

Damn the child if he thought he was going to get away with tonight. It took effort to get around the bed. His feet felt like lead. He could barely think around the pulse that took root in his skull. Headaches were what the living suffered from; not the dead.

Wait. Wally said _bait_.

"You little horror of a child, I will teach you to respect your elders." The Count lunged at him and Wally kicked back, not getting much farther than the Count in the struggle.

"I don't respect hacks," Wally countered.

He stepped forward, determined to wrap his hands around Wally's neck and squeeze until his last breath pressed from his lips. The willful teen managed to stumble just out of his reach. The solidness that took root in the Count's legs, crawled along his spine and into his arms until it was difficult to move. He fell on the bed, reaching for Wally who was pressed against the wall, out of reach.

"You will be my thrall," he threatened.

"My future is captain of the football team," Wally answered.

He got close enough to brush his fingers against Wally's thigh before the heaviness drew through his skull and darkness pulled him under.

oOo

"Good work, Numbuh Four, he took the bait. The Count will be off the street for a while now," Nigel Uno said from the doorway. "We'll take it from here."

"Good," Wally said. He leaned against the wall until his group removed the Count from the room. There was blood on his shirt and blood on the bed, but the serum in his system left him exhausted, a side-effect of what he had to consume and lay as bait for the Count.

He shifted into bed, feeling the ache in his neck that slid between his shoulder blades. Somewhere, between bouts of consciousness, he was aware that Kuki lingered in his room.

"This is gonna hurt, Numbuh Four," she stated.

The smell of rubbing alcohol was strong and the sting sharp as she rubbed it over his skin. Before he could thank her, he drifted back into sleep. When he woke, he was alone. He lay on the bed, staring up at the wood board ceiling. Light came in through the window. Birds were already singing and somewhere in the solitude, the sound of voices and video games came through the cracks in the floor.

He pulled himself from the bed and felt the twinge in his muscles on the left side of his body. It started from his neck and went downward. He cradled his arm as he pulled his shirt off and looked at the bite in the mirror. Luckily, his reflection was still present. That meant the vampire bite had no ill effects. The fang bites were puckered, red and crusted. The skin around the incision was purple and sensitive to the touch. He probed gently and something of an ache rolled in his stomach. He didn't understand that ache, it was like a craving, one that he knew was dangerous.

Wally splashed water against is face and patted it dry before pulling a bandage over the wound, then threw his shirt over his head followed by his signature sweater and a pair of jeans. The group of teen agents looked up at him when he entered. Their expressions were hard to gauge. He hated that look they often gave him when a mission was a little too close for call. He'd come back with broken bones, concussions and stitches, it was always this look from them. Just like those times, he couldn't tell now what they thought.

"Ace of a job," Nigel offered.

"That was so brave!" Kuki agreed.

"Way to win it," Hoagie said.

"You do al'right, kid," Abby stated.

Wally found himself smiling sheepishly at the kudos. "The stuff you guys gave me must have been strong." He changed the subject instead of acknowledging their comments. "I feel like I was up all night."

The team suddenly found themselves busy with their cereal bowls and mumbling noncommittally. He sat down at the table taking it for what it was, another morning in the tree house.


	2. Chapter 2

"You've been sleeping in class," Nigel said. The breakfast table hushed the minute Wally took a seat. "Are you feeling okay? You never let the medics look at the bite or take a blood test. It's not easy playing the role as bait and the drugs were experimental."

Wally shoved the entire cereal bar into his mouth, which wasn't like him. He hated cereal bars. Everyone else ate sweetened cereal, but the jock specialized his diet for the season. The one thing he hadn't done was cut his hair, which he usually did right before football started. The shaggy blond curls brought his threat level down a notch. He was almost… what would Kuki say? Cute? Nigel tried to shake the thought, but it stuck to him like the lice that attacked their tree house back in elementary.

"I'm fine. I freaking hate doctors and the ones at the center aren't any better. I'm not letting a bunch of lab coats poke at me."

"Do you have light sensitivity? Are you feeling weak or disoriented? Have you experienced a lack of hunger or a change in your sleeping habits? Have you experienced any change in your mood?" Abigail paused at the last question. Nigel carefully studied their hitter.

Wally blushed and broke eye contact with the group for a mere second before his resolve strengthened and he shrugged like there wasn't a care in the world. "I would tell you guys if I didn't think I could handle things, but there isn't anything I can't handle. So it's fine."

"Everything doesn't always have to be fine," Kuki said. "That's why we have psychologists and psychiatrists and a slew of specialists and medicine—"

"Are you kidding? There's nothing wrong with me. I was built for the hard hits and I take them, but I always bounce back and this is me now bouncing right out of here." He left the kitchen a bundle of nerves carefully hidden under a hooded sweater when it wasn't cold enough to wear them yet.

Everyone waited in silence for the elevator to ding, signifying the retreat of their hitter. Hoagie sighed, dropping his spoon in his bowl. "He's so not fine. He's definitely hiding something."

"Do you think this sudden sullenness is tied to the drugs the lab injected in him?" Nigel asked. He sat back in his chair, no longer hungry. There was a knot in his stomach and a building pressure high in his chest. A heavy foreboding hit him.

"Or with the Count. It's not like vampire bites have been widely studied. The only research the libraries and media have on the subject are roughly outdated," Hoagie said.

"There is a rumor going around that Wally likes it rough and the only people rough at school are the jocks. The other students are talking about his faded hickey right here," Kuki pointed to the curve where shoulder meets neck. "I haven't seen the bite since it happened. I have no idea if it's even healing or if this is an old rumor that just won't die."

Nigel pressed his fingers at his temple, trying to starve off a growing headache. They were best friends. "Damn it! He should feel safe telling me what's going on."

What left his eyes so haunted? What made him occasionally glance over his shoulder when they were out late at night? His hitter was intense and moody more so than usual. He couldn't pretend he hadn't noticed the thin gold chain around Wally's neck. They shared a communal shower, setup like at the high school gym and he caught sight of the tiny gold cross connected to the chain. He even followed behind Wally one Sunday, curious to find that Wally suddenly found religion at a Catholic Church, one of the strictest ones in town.

Hoagie was the first to stand from the table. "Dude, he's scared."

"I doubt it. That's not like Wally at all," Kuki said.

"We need someone tailing our operative at all times," Nigel said. He knew everyone's schedule, knew who would have class with Wally, and the one class no one had with the hitter right before lunch. They would all eat together, including Lizzy who was keen on having them try her latest desserts; he suspected she liked feeding the team though she wasn't a part of it.

oOo

Kuki glanced over at Wally. His eye lashes fluttered as he tried to stay awake and failed. He rested his cheek on his fist, propping his head up, but still couldn't keep his eyes open. His head slowly slid to the desk, caught in the rook of his arm. Kuki caught Abby's eyes, who sat directly behind him and gave a curt nod.

"It's important to remember these facts. This will be on the pop quiz on Friday," Mr. Lawrence droned on as he wrote bullet points on the blackboard. He didn't glance back once.

Kuki glanced at Wally who sighed in his sleep. She gave thumbs up to Abby who immediately leaned over her desk to hook a slender, French manicured nail into the collar of the soft cotton sweatshirt Wally wore. She pulled down on it and waited for Wally to move. He didn't. Kuki leaned in and still couldn't see anything on his neck. That had to be a good sign, right? She shrugged at her fellow operative who sighed and signaled for her to look again. There was still nothing to see.

Numbuh Five pulled it down farther and Kuki leaned farther into the aisle to see. Short of standing and being right on top of him, she could barely see anything be it a white scar that marred his tanned skin. She shrugged and slid back into her chair a second before a hand caught Abby's wrist. Both girls screamed in surprise.

"What are you—" Mr. Lawrence started, but fell silent from the hand that gripped his wrist.

They all stared equally surprised at Wally's quick response though he'd been sound asleep a second ago. His blue-gray eyes blinked up at Mr. Lawrence, before he quickly let go of his wrist. He was clearly incoherent as he looked down at his desk then glanced at the front of the class and over to the large windows as if he expected to be somewhere else, or with someone else.

"Asleep again in class Mister Beatles," Mr. Lawrence let Abigail go and turned his full attention on Wally, who didn't look back up at him.

"Can I be excused?" Wally asked. Mr. Lawrence barely gave permission before Wally was out of his seat with his backpack slung over his shoulder.

"I have to pee," Kuki yelled, taking off after Wally. The minute she hit the hallway, he was gone; vanished. She took a breath and thought it through, spotting the boys restroom. She shoved her way in, smelling the sharp tang of piss from the urinals.

The faucet was running with clean water filling the porcelain basin. Water was splashed on the mirror and slowly dripped down to the sharp edge jutting off the wall mount. Only one stall door was closed and it was the largest stall towards the back. She expected it to be locked, but it easily pushed inward. She wasn't sure what to expect, maybe Wally on the toilet ready to scream at her, but Wally wasn't on the toilet. He was on the floor with his back flush against the wall and his arms wrapped around his legs. His head rested downward on his kneecaps as he visibly shook. He looked smaller than he should for a lineman.

"Wally?" She didn't want to startle him, but he didn't move at the sound of her voice. It was dangerous startling Numbuh Four. People got hurt around him and sometimes the mission completely blew up. It depended on exactly what mind frame the hot-headed blond was in. "Wally?"

She reached out to touch his leg when his hand shot out, catching her wrist and bending it at an angle that caused her to fall to the ground to keep the bone from giving. He stared at her with dilated pupils and dazed eyes. She wasn't sure he actually saw her.

"Wally, it's me, Kuki. You're safe," she said.

He immediately let her go. "Sorry. I'm… sorry… just tired." He shoved both hands in his hair, pushing the maltase-like curly strands away from his face. He looked nice with long hair and even better with it pulled tight away from his face. "Just really, really tired. I… I don't know. Sorry. I didn't mean to."

She placed the back of her hand on his forehead. He was flush. "Wally, what is going on? You're scaring us."

"Us?" he asked with a hint of annoyance. He used the wall to stand, forcing her to back up to give him room. He wasn't the shortest operative any more. She was. "I don't need babysitters. I watch out for my team, not the other way around. I can handle any issue that comes up."

"You're not handling this one. What are you looking for when you stare off into space like you heard a voice?" she asked. The tic between his brows said she wasn't entirely wrong on that accusation. "That's what I thought. You know something you aren't telling us. Are we all in danger?" There was no response. "Or only you?"

He threw his hands up in the air. "A few months without a mission and the entire team goes stir crazy."

"You're a little defensive don't you think?" She stood her ground.

His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. She was right and that hit a nerve with him. He was hiding information from them. Instead of responding, he rolled his eyes and left the boys bathroom. She pulled out her mobile phone and texted the others: Wally is definitely scared. It could have something to do with our last mission.

In less than a second, she got three responses back. It was good to share the burden when it came to a fellow comrade. She wasn't alone in her concern and together, they would be the rock Wally needed in order for him to heal.

oOo

Wally knew what he had to be done because disregarding the voice wasn't an option. It refused to be ignored and after months with it constantly whispering, it finally destroyed his strong will. It whispered names like; thrall, blessed swan, gorgeous baby and haunted virgin.

Every word spoken made him shiver. It made the muscle under the scar on his neck tighten and ebb for the wet sturdy pull of pressure at his throat. It was a sick desire, too dark to mention to anyone, including the priest. And that desire made him spend hours in the bathroom willing his shaft to deflate. His hands couldn't touch his body as thoroughly, couldn't dig as deep as that voice, heating everything in his organs as if he drank boiling hot chocolate straight out of the microwave.

Blood swan. He didn't like that name. It was too submissive; too passive for the Team Hitter, yet he craved to hear it when the wound on his neck connected directly to the rush of heat that came during his wet dreams. Jesus, was he having wet dreams again? It'd been years since that happened, like right when he hit puberty in elementary.

He followed the guard down the hallway, glancing up from beneath his lowered hoodie to stare at the latest version of security cameras that were circular now, allowing the camera to follow movement at 360 degrees. Heat rushed to his cheeks and he lowered his head again, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

"You're a little young to be here without parents," the guard said. Wally shrugged, but grew hotter around the collar as the guard stared hard at him. "You get thirty minutes and then I'll be back to get you."

That's enough time to tell the Count to fuck off. The guard pulled the door open and waited a second for Wally to change his mind. Wally held his breath and crossed into the heavily fortified room. The muscles in his legs and his back tightened. The guard drew the heavy door closed and locked the door from outside. This was a maximum security prison where the criminals were extraordinary and now he had to see this through because there was no phone to call the guard to let him out.

The room appeared empty, but the nerve endings under the scar on his neck pulled in response to a very particular person. Suddenly nervous, he licked his lips. This was utterly stupid, even for him. There were no two way mirrors and no cameras, there were no witnesses to make sure this visit didn't get out of hand.

"They save this room for congenial visits." The Count's voice was silky smooth and deep. His chuckle was shameless. "What kind of visit is this going to be Mister Beatles?"

Wally swallowed hard. He really shouldn't be here, because the vampire's voice made his stomach flutter just like in his dreams, which usually followed another highly evolved reaction. "It's the type of visit where I tell you to stay out of my head, old man."

The air took shape and within a millisecond, the Count stood in front of him. He took a step back when a mere two fingers on his shoulder stopped him in place; not because they were forceful in nature, but because it was domineering in the gesture. He grew hot beneath his jacket.

"I'm sure you took precautions to keep our shared little secret," the Count said. He stood tall, lean and pale with obsidian black eyes that reflected Wally's face like a mirror.

Wally glared. "I have a lot of secrets, buddy, and you aren't one of them, so back off. I don't want to hear the disgusting things you mutter."

"Your heart quickens and your pupils dilate when you lie, but your mouth is so pretty while you're doing it. What other pretty things can you do with that gorgeous mouth of yours?"

What the…? He wasn't expecting this, but now that it was mentioned out loud, his breath caught. He found himself staring at the Count's red lips and perfectly aligned, toothpaste commercial white, teeth.

"Do you know the telltale signs of a subservient being the moment attraction hits, Wally? Their nostrils flare, taking in the scent of their alpha male, their leader. Their body softens," he punctuated his words by rolling his finger tips down Wally's cheek to his chin. Everything inside him screamed when he leaned into the touch. This earned a smile from the vampire, in turn, giving him instant gratification. "Your instincts have already kicked in. Your body knows it wants what I can offer, even if your mind hasn't accepted this truth of the matter."

Wally hit his hand away. "This was a mistake. Clearly you're insane and I'm going to make sure you never get out of here."

"I can smell you Wallabee. I can smell the way your blood raises to the surface with fear and anticipation. You showered, but that didn't wash the betraying scent of what you did while you were at school and what you did again in the shower," he leaned in, whispering the last part against his ear. "I saw how you stripped down for me when you thought you were alone. I watched you bite your bottom lip, trying so hard not to scream out loud."

Wally jerked away from him and reached out to shove the Count away, but his hands went through nothing. The Count took shape, smirking at his confusion. He placed two cold fingers under Wally's chin and raised his chin an inch to stare into his obsidian eyes. Wally took a breath, and then another, finding each passing second getting easier. His mind was calming down.

"That's right, sweet blessed virgin," the Count said, touching a lock of Wally's hair. "You've heard my voice all summer and followed my instructions so well. I'm proud of you for behaving."

Wally swallowed, but couldn't break the flow of his thoughts, slowing… slowing… slowing…

"Take off your jacket and shirt so I can look at my mark on your skin," the Count said. Wally's breath caught and the Count tsked softly. "It's okay, breath in and out. There you go. Keep breathing."

Every breath he drew was intoxicating. The vampire smelled like incense and wood polish, wet earth and graveyard wreaths. His heart raced as each notch vibrated to the core of his bones as he rolled the zipper down and dropped his jacket to his feet. He pulled his shirt over his head and his skin prickled from the icy atmosphere, but the Count made approving sounds that quickly made him hot again.

The vampire chuckled, folding his arms. He wore his orange prison clothes well. His shoulders weren't nearly as narrow as he'd thought. The vampire didn't look so lithe and fragile. He suddenly felt vulnerable. Was the Count truly the more dominant one?

The Count chuckled. "The necklace is adorable Wallabee. Does it make you feel safe?"

Wally fingered the cross around his neck. "What did you do to me?"

"Wallabee," the Count reached out and gently tugged a curly strand of hair before tucking it behind his ear. "You've always wanted a master. I'm merely stepping up and taking ownership of you."

oOo

Wally was more entertaining awake than he was when asleep. The youth left his hair long, which feminized his masculine qualities. The blondish- white strands held the warm radiation given off by the sun. Every strand he wrapped his fingers around, transferred the memory of heat and light he could no longer personally take.

"I'm going to embed so deeply inside you that when you sit out in the sun, I'll feel it." He kept his voice low in the intimate space he invaded. He could feel Wally's mental defenses still up, even if he was currently under his persuasion.

He leaned in, pressing his nose to the crown of Wally's head and took a deep inhale of breath, sucking in the shattered pieces of the operatives day. The smell of Bermudagrass, not the usual ryegrass, was strong on his skin over his palms and up his forearms from his football practice. The lingering scent of peanut butter on his fingertips said what he ate and the smell of females around his neck said he'd been too close for the Count's pleasure to possibly other interests.

"It will only be me, Wally." He wrapped his arms around the young man, drawing one hand up into the young man's hairline and twisting his fingers into the strands, pulling them away from his tanned neck. The strain forced his veins and tendons to react.

He couldn't believe the young man came to him, all pretty boy golden with his love of the sun, baby shampoo products and puppy dog eyes. Wally was naïve or he'd never come so ill prepared. He didn't smell like garlic. There wasn't a trace of anything on his skin saying this was a setup.

He drew the fingers of his free hand up under Wally's chin, tracing the blue veins to the dip in his collarbone where the muscle was deeply defined. His same finger rolled down over the valley of his distinct pectoral muscles. He traced the areola of his left nipple, rolling his finger around and around the quarter size coloration. On instinct, Wally's hand came up to rest on the Count's bicep, but didn't push him away.

"You're being so good Mister Beatles; such a good, good little boy," he said. Wally made a choked sound that could've been his stress. His heart was racing under his diaphragm.

The Count used his two fingers to trap the nub of Wally's nipple and the young man started to squirm. This was too much for him. He wasn't comfortable with it, which made the Count smirk.

"We'll pump these little nubs and get them bigger and swollen so there is more to suck on," he teased.

Wally started squirming more. His other hand came up to the Count's wrist caught in the young man's hair. "There isn't going to be another time. Bite me and then let me go."

The comment startled the Count. "You came here wanting this?"

Wally's checks turned red. "Don't make this a bigger deal than it has to be. You need blood or you wouldn't be bugging me. Call this a truce."

The Count threw his head back and laughed. The sound rushed from him. He couldn't control it. "You think that you call the shots, kid? No. I'll tell you when it's over. The truth of the matter is, you like this or you wouldn't be here right now."

"I don't need a master. I'm not into that kinky stuff. I have a mission and I'm tying the loose ends now," he said.

"You believe I'm a lose end?" He smirked.

Wally didn't meet his eyes and when he talked. He probably wasn't aware he was doing it. The boy was rightfully scared and it made his skin smell so much more promising like walking on the fairgrounds and smelling salted popcorn and warm sugar being caught on a stick and sold as cotton candy.

"You smell delicious. I will enjoy sinking my teeth into your artery, but where would I want the blood? Would I want to take it from your jugular or somewhere a little easier to hide my mark like the vein between your thighs?" He marked his statement by thrusting his free hand between Wally's thighs.

Wally's muscles ticked with surprised by the invasion even as he instantly went hard. He was caught off guard, but his face betrayed nothing. "Stop talking and just do it."

His face went hard again. It was a look the Count knew so well, but it was false brevity. What Wally said and did were so opposite of how his heart felt. He kept his mask carefully in place. The Count chuckled as he carefully drew his hand in and out from between Wally's clutched thighs.

"You need to get out of my head or I will make you get out of my head," Wally threatened.

"You believe that's possible, baby boy? You think you can stop what I've already done to you? Or how your body responds so quickly to me?"

Wally got his hands up between them and tried pushing back, but his strength didn't compare. The only thing he had going for him was the element of surprise and he screwed that up the minute he walked through the door to the tiny cell.

He let the boy tire himself out, trying to push away. Even gave him false hope by putting a little space between them, but the angrier and more scared Wally became, the more delicious the scent that emitted off him. His blood was hot. He was rallied and full of adrenaline and serotonin and testosterone.

"What does my bite do to you?" He asked, knowing the naughty truth in its entirety. If Wally hadn't been a virgin, he wouldn't be so succumbed by the effects. Sexually active people would find another outlet for the desire a mark would leave on their inner most hot spots.

Wally froze in his arms. "Invasive. Cumbersome. Itchy. Unwanted like the hack villain you are."

He laughed and the football star shivered in his arms. "Not completely unwanted or you wouldn't be here right now. Tell me now, Wally, about that itch. You can't quite appease it can you?"

He tongued the blue vein pressing against Wally's neck. The operative hissed. His fingers tightened in the Count's shirt as he forgot to fight back. The hell bent child needed so much therapy and he was the one that could fix it all by giving Wally the one thing he needed the most; a master, someone who was stronger, more determined and more dominant. He needed guidance, and someone in full control to take him down the right journey.

He found a new, warm patch of skin he wanted to bruise and his fangs itched their way down his gums until his canines made his mouth full. It was easy to ignore Wally's hold on the hand he had shoved between the football player's thighs.

"Please," Wally begged, breathless and wanton.

His eyebrow arched with interest. "Please what, Wally. Tell me what you want. Tell me everything you want from me."

"Please," Wally begged again. It could've been a plea to stop or a plea to continue, had the young man known what he really wanted, but he could tell that Wally tittered on the brink of sorts, and he couldn't weigh his options given his current state.

"Baby boy, tell me what you want. So gorgeous, aren't you Wally? You don't hear that, do you, because you're too busy being the protector. Do you want someone to protect you?" he asked.

Wally started to shift in his arms. He was trying to make a decision and his decision said he shouldn't be here. They both know that's what should logically be going through Wally's head. The child's eyes were dazed when he met his gaze. Wally swallowed hard. Yes, he was very aware he shouldn't be here.

The Count tightened his hold on Wally's hair and arched his neck back again. Wally cried out, surprised by the force and the Count sucked on the skin he intended to bite. The football player subconsciously started grinding into his touch. The heat from his hardened organ radiated through his jeans as Wally's breathing shifted, growing shallow and quick.

"That's right my swan, my sweet virgin, you are behaving so good for me, staying so calm. I'm not going to hurt you more than I have too," he whispered over his neck, stealing the younger man's heat.

He sank the tips of his incisors through the top layer of skin, feeling the give of the healthy, young flesh protecting the vital veins below the surface. Hot blood, radiating the heat of life and sunlight, rushed over his cold lips and tongue. He latched his mouth around the hole, digging in deeper. Wally cried out, clutching the front of the Count's orange jumper. For a human, his strength was impressive, but not a match to a vampire's strength.

He suckled on the wound. The wet sounds filled the quiet of the room. He stroked the outline of Wally's hardness and the young man pushed into his hand. Tension leaked out of his tight muscles, making the youth warm, malleable and oh so willing. The football star wanted to feed him. It was loudly spoken in the way Wally's breath hitched with content.

He slid his fangs from Wally's skin and licked at his mark. When he remained lethargic, the Count took the young man's face from the cradle of his shoulder so he could look into his beautifully dazed and content eyes. Wally's lips were open as he came down from his high. He took that moment to press their mouths together. Wally passively allowed the abuse on his mouth. One day soon, he'd make the young man orgasm, but not here in the room when he could hear the soft click of boots coming down the corridor.

The Count pulled back, allowing the operative to wake from his spell. "Hide your new marks, Mister Beatles. I will not have anyone impeding on my claim. You are completely mine."

Wally's eyes widened in panic. This time when he pulled away, the Count let him go. He raised a hand to his neck and closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. It confirmed his suspicion; there was no way the Brats-Next-Door knew their hitter was at the prison donating blood.

Wallabee pulled his shirt on and then his jacket, zipping it all the way up. Even with the fluffy hoodie, it didn't cover the angry, bruising welt on the kid's neck.

"Get out of my head," Wally growled, pointing a finger at him.

"Next time, I'm going to make you orgasm, kid," he promised.

Wally looked ready to faint. It had everything to do with the blood loss and heavy laden emotions. "There isn't going to be a next time. Next time you're in my head, I'm coming here with a stake."

"Empty threats, Mister Beatles. You can no sooner kill me as your new master than you can openly betray Nigel Uno as your old master."

Wally's breath caught. "I don't have a master, let alone two. Keep this up and I'll make your life a living hell."

The Count tsked. "That's not something to say to the person that is making you feel so incredibly good and Wally, unless you cut ties with your other master, I will kill him when I get out of here. I won't share you."

Wally growled. "I don't have a master! I have a leader, but Ni- Numbuh One isn't my master."

"Thou protests too much."

Wally opened his mouth, ready to throw another jab, when the door opened and the guard walked in. The older man looked at Wallabee first and frowned. The Count leaned back against the wall with his hands deep in his pockets. After a feeding like this, he couldn't get his fangs to pull back up into his jaw, which meant even with his mouth closed, the teeth protruded against his lips.

"Times up, kid. Time to get home before your parents get worried," the guard said. Under his breath he added, "Fucking skin you alive for being here if you were my kid."

Wally hissed under his breath, pulling his hood up over his face. Head lowered and shoulders pent up tight, he left the room, but his scent lingered. The Count took a deep breath of testosterone and pheromones and the deeply rooted desire that hit every young man when he was sexually active, except Wally wasn't like every young man. Wallabee Beatles still portrayed strong innocents… but that innocence was slowly fading. He could see it today.

oOo

Wally didn't go back to the tree house. The porch light was on as he slid inside, locking the door behind him. There was another light on in the living room and he caught his face in the round mirror. Blood, red against his pale features, startled the hell out of him. No wonder the guard stared so hard at him.

All the way home, he tasted blood in his mouth. Now he knew why. Staring at his obscene reflection made him hot with anger, but it quickly cooled into confusion. He went straight to the kitchen and poured water and drank it. It wasn't enough. He was so thirsty. He opened the fridge and everything looked great. He placed the milk, orange juice, Gatorade and tea in a row on the counter and went down the line, consuming as much as his stomach could hold. He had to stop before he reached the Root Beer. His stomach couldn't take any more.

He scooped more than needed into the coffee filter and turned the pot on. He couldn't sleep. He absolutely couldn't let himself sleep or he would dream and the Count would call him back. Until the connection was broken, he had to make sure the vampire couldn't reach him through his dreams. He drank what he could of the coffee, all black with no cream or sugar. When his stomach hurt from all the liquid, he set his cup to the side. He'd be drinking it all night now. He really, really, really couldn't allow himself to go unconscious. He couldn't remember his dreams, but he knew the Count was there.

He moved quietly to the bathroom, stripped out of his clothes and glanced at his reflection again. There was still blood on his face that didn't wipe off in the kitchen. He was pale and his pupils were blown wide against the blue-gray of his irises. The bite made a welt where his shoulder met his neck. The skin was bruised from the suction. He could still hear the obscene sound of the Count feeding off his body. The wet suckling went straight down a white hot line to his shaft. He shivered and tried to shove the thought into a very tight box as he climbed into the shower.

Tomorrow, Nigel would probably ask why he didn't go to the tree house. He had to be prepared that his team would try to analyze his behavior. No more. He was done with the Count. He would easily bury this and go on as usual.

"Sorry Count, I'm not your thrall or …" He instantly blushed, "everything else you go on about."


End file.
